


A Close Encounter

by yuumizoomies



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: 2018, Aliens, Cowboys, Easter Egg, Gen, Horses, John Marston - Freeform, RDR2, RDR2 Zine, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Zine: Wolf's Head, arthur morgan - Freeform, rdr, red dead redemption - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuumizoomies/pseuds/yuumizoomies
Summary: After an encounter with the Pinkertons, Arthur takes it upon himself to scout for safer areas the gang can lay low for a while. Begrudgingly accepting the help of John who insists on doing something useful, they set out towards high ground to see what they can find. Atop Mount Shann, they can see plenty of landscape -- but when a horse takes a tumble and they’re left with several injuries; they’re forced to setup refuge for the night. Uncovering grotesquely large skeletons and strange rock formations is just the beginning of a night that both Arthur and John agree is just a dream induced by their fevers.
Relationships: Jack Marston & John Marston, John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	A Close Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Back in 2018, I wrote this piece for the Red Dead Redemption Zine, called Wolf's Head, hosted by ghostsjogging on twitter. The copies have all been sold but I haven't gotten around to posting this publicly yet. Please enjoy this piece!

**A Close Encounter**

It’s the morning following Arthur’s encounter with the Pinkertons when John suggests they find a safer place to pitch camp. Behind the day’s first brew of coffee, Arthur listens to the concerns from his friend: about the rest of the camp and about his family. They know it’s foolish to think they can keep running without consequences. Figuring it’s better to be a step ahead of the law rather than be blindsided a second time, Arthur takes up John’s offer to ride out. 

So they’re here, at Mount Shann _._

John’s bright idea is to brave the passages around the mountain, get to a place where most of the Heartlands and Grizzlies are visible, and check the woodland from there. From their vantage point, they can find a valuable plot of land with plenty of nearby resources and cover. Marston reassures him several times after each snarky complaint that it’ll be a quick ride to the top, they’ll scan what they see, mark some places on a map and go scouting over the next few days. They will be on and off the snow capped peak in no time.

Arthur, on the other hand, isn’t so sure. 

The land begins to lose its life the further up they move. Grass gives way to rocky terrain, earth that looks as though it’s endured the toughest weathering. At the base, there are trees and boulders that have tumbled from the mountain above, where in their place freshly fallen snow glistens from the jagged rocks. More strangely however, Arthur notes the ambient noises around them have gone quiet, almost unnaturally so. The only sound he can hear aside from their horses beating the ground is the unforgiving winds that whip down from the oncoming paths curving over Mount Shann’s structure. 

It leaves him weary to continue traveling.

“Maybe we should leave the horses back here,” he suggests, inwardly aware that their steeds are more than capable of walking the steep paths. 

“We’ll cover more ground on horseback,” John calls from ahead. “I think they’ll be fine.”

Of course they will be. Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but there’s a feeling he can’t shake that they’re not welcome here. He shrugs it off as just the anxious pit in his stomach he’s had since waking as they begin up the mountainside. He presses on and tries to ignore it.

The pathway is incredibly slippery. His horse slides, but catches itself several times. Ahead, John and Old Boy has taken the trail in stride. Slowly but surely, they’ve scaled most of the cliffside. Arthur passes a few glances over his shoulder at the forests and lakes below them as they begin to reach the top.

As promised, the world comes into a wide view, breathtaking in its range. The temperature has noticeably dropped the further upwards they have moved, and snow begins to spot his vision. Arthur raises the collar of his jacket and presses it over his face to stop the sting of cold air against his skin. 

“Do you see anything yet, Marston?” He stops only for a moment, calling out as John begins to slowup before him. 

“I think I see a bit of something over here,” the other motions with a hand towards a ledge that is well across the rocks, off the path. 

Arthur shakes his head. _Bad idea_. 

John swerves off the trail and across the rocks, slowly taking each step closer to the ledge. Arthur doesn’t dare follow; instead he tries to look outwards at the woodland dotting the landscape. He watches John go to remove something from his saddlebag, pulling the reins ever so slightly as he turns in the saddle. Old Boy protests with a yank of his head, hooves losing purchase against the rock, John jolting to attention instantly -- it happens all so quickly. -- He watches John and Old Boy go tumbling over the ledge. 

Arthur dismounts quickly, rushing across the snow and ice-slicked rocks to skid to a halt. 

“ _Marston!?_ ”

“I’m fine!” John calls back, voice wavering. “Just get the _hell_ down here, Arthur!” 

Arthur peers over the edge. It’s a short fall. He can clearly see Old Boy laying against the snow below, sides heaving. John is struggling to pull himself from beneath his horse. 

The gunslinger looks around then, spotting a small patch of snow between rises in the terrain. He has to have that it won’t send him flying from the mountain’s surface. Sprinting over, he drops and slides through the snow, scuffing his boots to regain his footing once he’s below the overhanging rock. 

John has wiggled most of his way from beneath Old Boy by the time Arthur’s newly offered hands pull him further to freedom. John lays belly-down, huffing, before looking up apologetically. 

“Should have stayed on the path.” He wheezes.

“No shit _._ ” 

Below him, John sighs out in defeat. 

“Well, this is a goddamn mess,” he says, struggling to his feet. Arthur notes the haphazard way John stands and the sudden limp he has as he takes a few steps towards the horse lying helplessly by his feet. There’s an innocent exchange he only barely pays attention to, eyes sweeping from John to something else that is peeking through the rocks. 

“Are those… _bones?_ ”

Inching closer, Arthur can begin to make it out more clearly. It’s not just bones, but a _whole skeleton._ Even more surprising is the sheer _size_ of it. It stretches out through the large patch of dirt that isn’t covered by wind strewn flakes of snow, and most of the way back into the cover provided by the natural formation above. With sharp, serrated teeth and long spider-like fingers, it most certainly isn’t human. And it _most certainly_ rekindles the feeling that their presence here is unwanted.

There’s an uncomfortable silence as John joins up by his side. The wind howls around them, swirling a vortex of white over the cracked and withered bones. _It’s unnatural._

*

_John and I trekked all the way out here to Mount Shann, thinking maybe if we made it to the top we could spot a decent place the Pinkertons won’t go sniffing for the rest of us. Coming all the way to the top was John’s idea --_

Arthur glances up from his journal, pencil resting against the page. John is bundled up in the blanket they’d pulled from his horse, hovering his hands over the fire they’d pitched in their shelter. He tries to ignore the bones that aren’t so easily dismissable beside them. 

After arguing whether they should keep going or not, they both agreed the journey home wasn’t worth causing another accident. They’d stay warm for the night and head back to camp tomorrow. Now, they just have to wait out the night and stay warm. Arthur turns his attention back to his journal for now, sneaking one more passing glance at John.

\-- _though he won’t admit it was a bad one. Old Boy took a tumble trying to make it up the side of the paths. John went with it. So now we’re stuck for the night on this godforsaken mountain. Hope Marston feels better in the morning. He’s always getting himself hurt nowadays._

He looks to the skeleton with trepidation, wondering if even documenting something like this would bring a curse on the two of them before beginning to slowly sketch lines on the page beside his newest entry.

“What was it like?”

Arthur looks up from his journal. John has shifted from his spot by the fireside. He’s settled a little closer with his gaze averted. 

“What?”

“The agents. When they rolled up on you.” 

A gruff laugh escapes off the edge of his exhale. He wants to express his doubts about Blackwater, about Dutch, how they can keep running and possibly never make it to paradise but that isn’t the question asked. With a slow roll of his shoulders, Arthur simply shrugs.

“Not so tough.”

John nods. He fidgets with his hands, tapping his fingers absently against their opposing tips. Something is eating him. Arthur doesn’t pry.

“And Jack?” He finally asks. 

The two men lock eyes. There’s something woeful in the way he asks. Like he regrets not having been the one to have the run-in with the law, not having been the one to be there with his son. Pity grips Arthur’s heart. It isn’t often John shows concern for his family, most days it seems like he doesn’t acknowledge their existence. Jack must have been on his mind. Maybe that’s the real reason John brought them all the way up here?

“Jack did fine. There ain’t nothing to worry about. He came back in one piece.”

John frowns, but doesn’t press any further. His inquiries for the night seem to be done. Arthur doesn’t bother explaining. He keeps sketching in his journal, every so often casting a few concerned looks in John’s direction. Marston keeps to himself. He watches the crackling flames die out as the stars begin to shine through little breaks in the clouds outside. 

*

“ _Arthur._ ”

Morgan opens his eyes. He isn’t sure when he fell asleep or for how long exactly, but he knows it hasn’t been hours. John isn’t at his spot sidled between him and the fire, but instead is standing on the other side of the sheltered area. His hands are balancing him on the side of the rock wall. 

“-- The _Hell_ \-- Marston, you should be _sleeping!_ ”

John ignores him. Instead he saunters a little closer. Arthur can see now he’s been out of the cave. His lashes and hair are stiff with frost and his boots are wet from treading through snow. Irritated that he would leave with an obvious fracture or break, Arthur begins to stand.

“I found something. Up on the mountain a little further.” 

“ _I can’t believe you_.”

“You have to come see it.”

“Well, what the hell is it?” It better be worth risking his other leg for.

“Rocks.” 

“Are you _serious?_ ” Arthur deadpans. Did John _really_ wake him up to go see _rocks?_ He bites his lip for fear he’ll snap and inhales sharply. From across the way, John uncomfortably shifts his weight from one unsteady leg to the next. 

“It’s not _just_ rocks, it’s… hard to explain.” 

There’s a certain emphasis when John speaks. Arthur understand within seconds, slowly casting a simultaneous glance towards the skeleton with his brother. Just like the early morning prior and the ride along the mountainside, a numbing feeling settles over him. 

“Alright.” He motions for John to lead the way. “Let’s see it then.” 

Arthur gives the skeleton one more helplessly apprehensive look before he treads across the cool rocks to follow his friend into the open night. The snow is no longer falling. In fact, looking skyward, there’s no clouds at all. Even the wind now seems to have fallen silent. It’s an eerily frightening but familiar quiet that Arthur isn’t fond of. He unconsciously begins to walk closer to John, both supporting that limp and reassuring himself they’ll be fine. 

John seems to sense his uneasiness. “Are you scared or something?” 

“What? Scared _? Me_ _?_ No.” 

Arthur catches John rolling his eyes before he nods forward. “It’s just around the corner here.” 

The two of them walk to meet the peaks of Mount Shann, following the trail that grows thinner and thinner as they continue on. When they finally round the jagged bend, Arthur can see the whole of Big Valley below them. The slivered moon washes the open grassland in a ghoulishly white glow while the river curving through the land reflects the galaxy like a mirror. Out in the distance, he can make out the lights of a homestead shining. 

“Arthur.” John’s voice turns his attention. “It’s over there.” He points towards yet another rise in the earth just down the trail. Through the night, Arthur can make out a silhouette of something jutting from atop the mountain. It looks like some sort of miniature spire...

“How the hell did you manage to get up there?” 

“My leg ain’t _that_ broken.”

“Not _yet_ it ain’t.” 

The pair follow the trail until it abruptly ends, sloping downward. It makes the trek a little harder, they eventually make it to a place where scaling up the snow-slicked surface of the mountain is possible. Despite John’s wounded walk, he makes it to the top first. 

“See?” John says as Arthur climbs from the edge and stands. “Look at these.”

It’s definitely a peculiar sight to behold. A circle of smoothed river rocks, painted with arrows, pointing in each cardinal direction. They enclose a scattering of smaller stones with seemingly no special placement; all of which are sitting beneath a large, pointed boulder that matches both men in height. Arthur kneels down for a closer look, picking up one of the smoothed stones and turning it about. It’s hand carved, almost perfectly so. On the underside, he finds some sort of hieroglyph etched into the surface. He runs his fingers over the indented letters, uneasy. 

_We should not have found this,_ he thinks, _we’ve stumbled across something we shouldn’t have._

“Someone put these here.” John concludes behind him. “It’s unnatural.”

“Unnatural…” Arthur murmurs under his breath. Everything about Mount Shann so far has been unnatural. The silence, the skeleton, and now whatever the hell this is. He places the rock back among the others and stands to face John. “Look, I don’t think we should… I mean, I think maybe this isn’t…” He tries to find the right words to say. 

“We shouldn’t be here, Marston. I really think we weren’t meant to find this.” He watches John stare at him, blankly. “All I’m tryin’ to say is… ain’t you the least bit… I don’t know, _disturbed_ by this place?” 

John laughs in disbelief. “You really are scared!”

“Not scared. Just… ill at ease, I guess.”

“Of what, Arthur? The cold?”

“No.”

“The heights?” 

“ _No._ ” 

“Then what? The skeleton? Is that it?”

Arthur hesitates. “No, not exactly. Look, I just… think this whole thing was a bad idea.” He forces himself to meet John’s eyes. “This whole mountain seems like it’s cursed or something. There’s no life. It’s quiet. The second we started up here ain’t nothin’ gone right. You fell, we found those giant bones. There’s these,” He motions to the rocks. “Something isn’t right here. We should go back to the fire, grab our horses and make it down to Strawberry right now, best we can.” 

John nods. Arthur can see a certain look pass through his furrowed brows as he looks downwards, like the other man has been feeling the same sort of precarious notion that Arthur has. This place is haunting. Be it the tormenting quiet or the strange disappearance of any living creature, John knows what he means. Mount Shann is not normal. It’s otherworldly. 

Marston looks back up and opens his mouth to speak, but his voice is drowned out by a sound that leaves Arthur slamming his hands against his ears. It sounds symphonic, an overwhelming sudden blare of a trumpet. It splits the air like thunder, crackling over their heads. For a brief moment it pauses and silence falls once more, but another roaring sound follows immediately behind it. The wind around them picks up with a force unlike any Arthur has felt before, whipping their coats under the force. It drags their feet through the snow as they struggle to keep a hold on the icy rock beneath their boots. 

Out of nowhere, there’s a brilliant flash of light. It blinds them both, forcing Arthur’s arms over his face to shield his eyes.

“ _What the hell is going on?!_ ” John shrieks, pulling his gun from it’s holster.

“ _I don’t know!_ ” Arthur yells back. 

After a few torturing moments, the sound of horns begin to dull over into a hum of electricity. The light softens into a green glow that climbs into the air before them. Arthur braves a glance over his own limbs. His heart drops has he takes in a crippling breath that hitches in his throat.

_He can’t believe what he sees._

A metal contraption, laced with lights in the middle, hanging in the air above them. The top side of it turns in one direction, while the bottom half turns the opposite. It groans against itself as its cog-like function collides with each passing turn; blocking the waning moon that reflects off it’s surface, shining like some sort of celestial object. 

Unsure of what to do, they pass an uncertain look towards one another -- John with his gun in hand and Arthur holding his arms out like perhaps that will keep him safe. When he does find the will to move his body again, Arthur only manages to take a staggering step towards John and grabs onto his shoulders. “Let’s get the _hell_ out of here, Marston!” 

John doesn’t have to be asked twice, instead lurching from his grasp and vaulting over the edge of the rocks. Not waiting to see if he’s alright, Arthur begins to follow when he hears the sound of melodic screeching behind him start again. He flinches and takes in a sharp breath, his heart thudding in his chest. In that moment, he wonders if the last thing he’ll ever see in this world is John’s back, turning to flee. Swallowing hard, he turns to face the craft with shaking fists - only to find it ascending into the painted night sky. In the flurry of white it sends up as it begins to rise, Arthur notices something he doesn’t remember noticing the first time: A figure, silhouetted behind one of the lights. Squinting, he manages to see it. To his surprise, _it’s waving goodbye._

Stunned where he stands, he watches the figure and its flying machine disappear into the Milky Way beyond. Somewhere below him on the mountain, he hears John screaming. The worry in his voice brings Arthur back to reality, grounding him in his boots once again.

“I’m alright, John, I’m coming!”

*

It’s night in Horseshoe Overlook. Most of the camp is resting. Hosea puts out the rest of the fires and wishes Arthur goodnight. As he begins to head to his cot, Arthur catches a glimpse of John, sitting on a log near the overhanging ledge. It’s been a few days since their journey from Mount Shann. Once home, they’d split ways and hadn’t spoken. Against his better judgement, Arthur feels he should at least check on him. Crossing the grassy slope, he goes to sit beside John on the log.

“How are you feeling?” 

John has his eyes closed. He doesn’t answer right away. “Fine,” he exhales. “Thankful.”

“Yeah?”

John nods. “Hey, though, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” 

“Shoot.”

“You were right. Never should have gone off that trail or bothered those rocks or nothing. It was all a bad idea.”

Arthur nods, looking out over the river that flowed through the valley in front of them. He remembers the way the stars seemed to shine through the water in Big Valley that night. “You know,” he starts. “I don’t really think it was a bad idea.” When John perks up and looks at him with expectation, he simply shrugs. “You were doing what you thought would help out your family. No harm in that, I suppose.”

“Thanks, Arthur.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

Nodding, John looks to his hands, then back up - towards twinkling space. 

“You think we’re alone out here, Arthur?” 

Arthur simply shakes his head and laughs. But… after their encounter on Mount Shann, is there an answer to that? Or was that all some hallucination induced by fevers and frostbite? For once in his life, Morgan doesn't really have a blunt, straight-to-the-point retort to something John has asked. Tilting his head to the side in thought, Arthur looks back into the radiant night. His gaze sweeps over the distant lights that bespeckle the western skies. 

It’s been a long time since he’d looked into space. When he was younger, Hosea would always tell him to watch out for shooting stars. Most of the time thereafter in his youth, his wandering eyes were always looking for something streaking through the night. 

“No,” He finally says. “I don’t think we are.”

*  
  



End file.
